One-shots of History
by VeniVediPerivi
Summary: A series of one-shots and requests via PMs are happily accepted! I will happily write ships as well and AU's such as Cardverse or the Sweet Devil AU. If smut is asked for though (via PMs) I will not write it. Simply fluff. (Because who doesn't love fluff? It's cute!) Also, these one-shots consists of the Fifty states which are personified. May chaos ensue!
1. Rise of 2P America

Alfred kept back a choked scream that was boiling up from the depths of his soul. He never felt so vulnerable.

He gagged on the air that was suffocating him as the rain poured down around him. How did it come to this? How did this happen… Every other country seemed to hate him with a burning passion that unified them together. At least that's what he thought, but it was far from the truth. He had just hit rock bottom and everything was in turmoil. Curling up into a ball, he let out a pitiful sob. He was alone. No one was here. No one would ever be.

 _You're not alone._ He heard.

He shot up and whipped out his gun pointing it at the trees that seemed to be enclosing in on him. It was just his imagination though. His hands shaking, he looked through blurry eyes.

"Who's there?!" He shouted looking around his gun still raised. There was no answer. "Show yourself!" Alfred yelled again, pointing the gun up at the darkened sky, and fired off a warning shot. The only thing that stirred though was the trees in the wind and Alfred's own hair which whipped into his face.

God, he must be losing his mind.

He collapsed onto his knees and stared blankly at his gun. Mud covered him but Alfred didn't seem to notice. He wished somebody was here. He wished...He wished Arthur was here. He couldn't take it anymore. He just couldn't. He felt broken. He buried his face into his hands feeling the harsh cold metal of his gun, against his face a scream broke through the air. A scream that radiated from him and seemed to travel far from the depths of America's past. All the screams that he never let out being echoed out into this moment. A scream that filled the night letting anyone by know that a broken soul was by.

He remembered it all. All the tears he never shed, all the pain he had endured and how he somehow kept on going; through the revolutionary war, the war of 1812, and on and on throughout history. Pearl Harbor, World War one and two, Korean war, everything.

He let out the scream of all the tortured Americans and the ones that threw themselves off the twin towers during 9/11. The ones that he couldn't save. He felt out of breath and unbelievably tired as his screams faded away. Strangely, he felt relieved.

He collapsed onto the ground. He was no hero. He couldn't save everyone. The cold truth hit him and he let out another sob. He just wanted to help. He wanted to keep others safe.

 _Destroy your enemies before they destroy you. Then once you're in control everyone will be safe._ The words echoed throughout his head and he closed his eyes. Was that what reality was like? Was that the lesson Arthur tried to teach him in 1814, when he had burned his capital? Burned his own heart out? Was he the enemy to them?

 _Please...Just make it stop._ He begged reaching out into the darkness, reaching out to the words that gave him his only comfort. He saw a hand reach back to him, stretching out towards him.

"ALFRED!" He heard outside of his own mind but he paid no attention to it. His name fell on deaf ears. He could barely recognize the voice. He reached out to the hand and their fingers intertwined. The person had a firm grip and all of a sudden he felt himself being tugged into the darkness arms wrapping around him.

"I'm here brother." He heard. Alfred looked up and stared into blazing red eyes. Even in the darkness he could still see them.

"Who are you?" He asked completely confused, and maybe even scared.

The man who was practically a mirror image of himself smirked slightly pulling Alfred close. "I think you already know the answer to that. I'm you," The person said. Alfred's eyes widened slightly at the revelation. He had finally discovered the darkness within him. A darkness that resided in every nation, a darkness that was suppose to be kept locked away but in this hopeless moment Alfred excepted it. He welcomed it. He wanted to be free of the pain. He knew that it was weak of him but he didn't even have the strength to fight back. The hero had fallen, being engulfed by the person that he was suppose to keep locked away. He had no idea that this part of him had even existed. But...he was undoubtedly familiar.

Arthur ran towards the prone figure that laid in a small clearing in the forest. He could make out Alfred's bomber jacket through the rain that obscured his vision but he kept on running. Through the mud and rain he kept on going. Alfred hadn't responded to him and his still figure made Arthur scared. He made it to the American's side and knelt beside him pulling him onto his lap and looked at his face. Mud covered Alfred but he was fine. He was alright.

"Oh thank god," Arthur said and pulled Alfred into a hug. He had been so worried. He squeezed his eyes shut holding his brother. His _son_. He had to get him out of here and find them shelter somewhere until the rain passed. He opened his eyes and then looked at Alfred and gasped. He sat there still holding Alfred but something was happening. Alfred's once golden wheat blonde hair was darkening slowly turning brown, and his skin was also. Except it seemed to be tanned more than anything else.

He felt his blood run cold. It couldn't be. This...This couldn't be what he thought it was.

Alfred's eyes opened revealing blood red orbs, a stark contrast compared to the clear blue sky that once resided in them. They came into focus taking in the world and then his eyes met Arthur's and a smirk started to spread across his face. A smirk that didn't fit Alfred's facial features making his expression even more twisted and cold. But this wasn't Alfred. Not his Alfred. No...This was something darker, a force not to be reckoned with. Arthur still held America out of shock, not knowing how to react.  
America sat up removing himself from England, that malicious smirk still present on his face.

"Sorry you must be looking for Alfred. He isn't present at the moment but if you want, feel free to leave a message."

" _No_." Arthur gasped. There was a slight twinkle in America's eyes and he grinned.

"No message?" America asked. "Fine by me. That makes things _much_ easier." He then stood and pulled out his gun and pointed it at England his hand steady. "I have a message for you and your precious nations. Tell them these exact words," He said and cocked his gun. "Tell them that I'm coming and that there is nowhere to hide. Perks of being a superpower. No matter where they run I will find them. Got that?"

Arthur looked at America his eyes wide. _Alfred...I'm so sorry._ He hadn't been there when he needed him the most. Regret and guilt filled him making him feel numb all over. _I'm so sorry...but I will find a way to help you. I will save you. I will be your hero._

"I'll take that as a yes," America said. He then pulled the trigger.

* * *

 _ **And there you have it! My first official one-shot on this website and I really hoped you all enjoyed it. Also, if you are wondering what happened Alfred just simply turned into 2P America. I know people usually have it so that 2Ps are separate beings from their 1Ps but I had a cool theory where the darkness of every nation actually resided inside themselves as the 2Ps. It was neat but here it is in action. I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot. Until next time my dearies!- Admin**_


	2. Confederate States of America

_We, the people of the Confederate States, each State acting in its sovereign and independent character, in order to form a permanent federal government, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity-invoking the favor and guidance of Almighty God- do ordain and establish this Constitution for the_ _ **Confederate States of America.**_

A constitution. That was all it took for Allan to be born. A Constitution written allowing a nation to be personified; their very existence being based upon the Constitution of the Confederate States of America and so Allan was born. Born into _war._

The battlefield was all the young nation knew. Aim, fire, _kill._ You fight against the union, you fight against those damn yankees. You fall, you get up. You bleed, you wrap it up and keep on going. You get shot, crying or calling for help ain't gonna do nothing. Oh _no._ You get shot, and you better be back in the battle.

Pain was nothing more than a pinch. You'll get used to it. And so Allan fought. He was made for a reason and that reason was ever so clear to him. His basis of existence ran on one thing.

 _Preserve slavery, states' rights, and political liberty for whites.  
_

The Union though stood against one thing that Allan was founded upon.

 _Slavery_.

It was the reason that this Civil war started. The issue of slavery had oozed and grown like some sort of pus bubble and now it was exploding. And because of that Allan was created. A nation but to the Union the Confederate States of America was self-proclaimed despite the fact that eleven states had seceded and declared themselves independent from the Union. It had all started off with seven states.

South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas.

Their regional economy was mostly dependent upon agriculture, particularly cotton, and a plantation system that relied upon the labor of African-American slaves. They seceded to protect themselves and piggy back ride off of slaves to economic prosperity. Allan didn't see anything wrong with it. They weren't people. They were _property_. They were bought and weren't even considered citizens but the Union wanted to take that away. And if they did then where would that leave his country? Not anywhere good. So on February 1861, Allan was personified and the Confederate States of America were formed, which was considered illegal by the government of the United States. Then after the Civil War began in April, four slave states of the Upper South – Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina – also declared their secession and joined the Confederacy. They joined _him._ The Union had shrunk drastically in size and Allan had grown but he was still so young. So small and untrained. That was immediately fixed though as he was thrown onto the battlefield at the raw age of three months. He was no longer a child. He was a _nation_ even if the Union rejected the claims of secession and regarded the Confederacy illegitimate. He existed and maybe that was a sign that they were afraid. Afraid that their precious Union would be permanently destroyed. Allan was a nation and even if no foreign government officially recognized the Confederacy as an independent country, Britain and France had granted him belligerent status which allowed Confederate agents to contract with private concerns for arms and other supplies.

But then the tides turned against him

In early 1865, after four years of heavy fighting which led to an estimated 620,000 military deaths, all the Confederate forces surrendered and the Confederacy...where was he left to? The war lacked a formal end and nearly all of his forces had been forced into surrender or deliberately disbanded by the end of 1865, by which point the dwindling manpower and resources of the Confederacy were facing overwhelming odds. Jefferson Davis later lamented that the Confederacy had "disappeared" in 1865.

 _Disappeared._

And that's how Allan ended up here. On his knees, before the supreme court of the United States of America facing complete dissolution, his hands handcuffed behind his back. His red eyes staring at the wooden floor beneath him refusing to meet anyone's piercing gaze, because he couldn't. Couldn't let them see the tears welling in his eyes because he was helpless and _scared_. The great Confederate States of America had been degraded down to nothing. To this pitiful child who was bruised and bleeding from various cuts on his body, his gray uniform smudged with dirt and so was his face. Despite the pain and the situation he was in though, he refused to let any tears fall because he had to be strong. He had to stand for everything he was founded upon. It was the only reason he was existing today.

"Shall we proceed?" A justice asked and everyone else seemed to hum in agreement.

" _The Confederate States of America which from early days has been a bearer of militarism and reaction in the South of the United States of America has de facto ceased to exist-"_

Allan nearly choked on the air around him feeling something squeeze in his chest. His heart throbbing as he heard those words and he clenched his fists. Maybe everyone saw it as him fighting back but Allan only did it to contain the pain as he was weakened with only just the words of the Chief Justice. Who knew that words could hurt so much?

 _Please,_ Allan thought to himself. _Have mercy._

" _Guided by the interests of preservation of peace and security of peoples and with the desire to assure further reconstruction of the political life of the South on a democratic basis, the Supreme Court enacts as follows-"_

 _Please,_ Allan begged silently in his mind trying to breathe properly but he couldn't quite catch his breath. He was dying. At the rapid age of four he would die and no one would miss him. He doubted that all the states that had been apart of him wouldn't either. No. They had the Union. They were a family with _him_. Even thinking about the Union left a bitter taste in his mouth because he had been his enemy...even though Allan had never seen him before.

" _The Confederate States of America together with its central government and all its agencies are abolished_ -"

Allan let out a cry of pain as the fire brewing inside him increased, the judge's words nothing but paper to the hearth inside him. _No...No, I...I don't want to die._

" _The State and administrative functions as well as the assets and liabilities of the former Confederate States of America will be transferred to appropriate country financing, subject to such agreements as may be necessary and made by the United States Government-"_

"Stop!" Allan cried out deciding to speak up now. " _Please._ I...I don't want to die. I...I was only fighting for what I thought was right! I-I just was doing what I was founded upon…" He said his bottom lip trembling as he looked at the Chief Justice, tears threatening to fall. " _Please._ " He begged one last time.

The Chief Justice though did not seem to care about Allan's pitiful cries as he looked back at his paper and continued.

" _The provisions of this Article are subject to such revision-"_

"No, don't-"

" _And other provisions as may be agreed upon-"_

"Stop!"

" _By the United States Government."_

Allan felt something snap with him and he gasped before he started screaming pain erupting throughout his entire body like a wildfire. Tears freely slipped out of the corner of his eyes and for the first time since the start of the war he cried. He cried and cried, mumbling unintelligible words as stars flashed before his eyes. He was abruptly yanked back by his handcuffs and a rag was shoved into his mouth so that no one could no longer hear his screams. No one except himself as it radiated throughout his head mercilessly.

" _The United States dissolution of the Confederate States of America, signed on the 20th of April, liquidates the Confederate States of America, its central government, and all its agencies. This law is in the nature of a confirming action; the eleven states and administrative districts of the Confederate States of America have been accepted back into the union nulling the existence of the Confederate States of America."_

Allan felt all his strength leave his body. He felt everything that made him _him_ fade.

 _Nulled._

Liquidated.

His strength and power returning to the Union and he was left for nothing. He felt his body go limp and his eyes were heavy and he felt...tired. Was this what it was like to die? Was it just an endless slumber? Or would there be something waiting for him once he closed his eyes? He didn't have a choice on the matter as the young nation's eyes fluttered close.

 _Sleep…_

 _Sleep…_

 _Sleep…_

But he did not disappear.

* * *

 _ **In case anyone did not agree with the last one-shot as Alfred technically being 2P America, I made this one-shot to smooth things over. :) Allan (2P America) is the Confederate States of America and so he is his own separate nation. I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot because I enjoyed writing it. But until next time my dearies! Bye, bye!- Admin**_


	3. Cherry Blossoms (Ameripan)

How long had it been?

Years- _No._

Centuries.

Centuries since he had first met the personification of the United States of America.

Their first meeting had been nothing less of diplomatic, but Japan himself had been nothing but a nervous wreck inside because he had heard much about America and had felt _threatened_. Even as he swung his "big stick" around in the form of warships, unlike Japan had ever seen before, he couldn't help but feel mildly impressed. Especially when the young boy had introduced him to charts and maps that had been made. Ones ranging from geography to biology and Japan had been _fascinated_.

What had also intrigued Japan was the way the personification acted. He was very... _physical_. From wanting to shake hands and also his loud booming voice and boisterous personality that Japan found both obnoxious and annoying, but alluring at the same time. He hadn't come across such a person before. He acted as if they were best friends even though they had never meant before. Not even with Netherlands had he had experienced this.

Japan had been receptive to the American, so much that he offered him to show him around the raw beauty of his own country. An offer that the American had responded with a ' _Hell yeah!'_

He wondered if that was the norm of society in his nation.

Nonetheless, the American had questioned everything. From the government system of his country to the strange clothes everyone seemed to be wearing.

It took nearly an hour for Japan to explain that the T-shaped, straight-lined robes worn so that the hem falls to the ankle, with attached collars and long, wide sleeves were actually called _Kimono._ An everyday wear that wrapped around the body, always with the left side over the right and was secured by a sash called an _obi_ , which was tied at the back.

The American had been confused with the style of wear but had commented that it looked 'cool' especially with the footwear, in which Japan had to further explain saying it was called _zōri_ and other forms called _geta_ and the split-toed socks that were worn with them were called _tabi_.

Japan had a feeling that it probably had passed right over the American but Japan didn't hold it against him. He knew how cultural differences could be. After all, America wasn't the first western nation he had encountered.

From there, America was due to leave but as a symbol of friendship Japan had given him a small farewell party in the form of a traditional Japanese tea ceremony. The elaborate and refined Japanese tea ceremony was meant to demonstrate respect through grace and good etiquette. Good etiquette to America and also a show of respect to the nation.

Japan wasn't sure if America understood this but in simpler terms, Japan had addressed him as an equal. As both a being and also a nation.

The Japanese man had saw the American off with a simple ' _tomodachi'._ He was certain that he hadn't understood what it meant giving how he had looked at him strangely, but Japan knew that in time he would learn the meaning.

Upon his meeting with America though Japan's world quickly broadened. He realized that he was up against every nation out there, and in order to survive he had to imperialize, to grow in strength and prosper. He felt suffocated by how fast his country had to change, to westernize but he had been able except the change and so did his people.

But it always seemed like America was there to help him.

A perfect example being the Russo Japanese war. It was fought between himself and the Russian Empire over rival imperial ambitions in Manchuria and Korea. It was one of his first _true_ wars with a nation but the Empire of Japan had been victorious. _He_ had been victorious.

But of course it had put Japan on the verge of complete bankruptcy and he had had felt desperate.

It was because of this he had sent a message to the only person he could think of. That he could trust.

 _America_.

He had asked for him to help. Asking for _something_ because he knew he needed it.

And America had come armed with his boss, Theodore Roosevelt.

He had helped both him and Russia make a treaty, one to soothe both nations so that they could both get the land they wished for but of course there was some losses. Despite that, everything had worked out quite well and the treaty soon became known as the Treaty of Portsmouth.

And because of Theodore's assistance, America's president won a nobel peace prize.

Following the treaty, his and Russia's relations actually improved and Japan was content. So when America finally went to leave once again Japan had saw him off with a simple ' _shin'yuu'._ The American that time had actually smiled.

Five years passed and the thought of the nation never seemed to be able to leave Japan's mind. The personification's glistening smile, and golden hair that seemed to do nothing but shimmer in the sunlight, and of course that loud booming voice that made him the center of attention, constantly plagued his mind.

He didn't know why but the mere thought of the American was...he didn't know.

But what he did know was that America was a dear friend of his. And so that same year Japan sent two-thousand Japanese cherry blossom trees to Washington D.C. as a symbol of friendship between his and America's own country. It was his national flower, and the tree was something that meant quite a lot to him.

The transience of the blossoms, the exquisite beauty and volatility, had often been associated with mortality and grace and readily acceptance of destiny and karma. For this reason, the precious tree was richly symbolic to his people and culture. To his very land.

The cherry blossom represented the fragility and the beauty of life. A constant reminder that life is overwhelmingly beautiful but also tragically short, as the blooms of the flower bring life and color to the tree itself but also fade as quickly as they come.

A reminder that even though he was a nation, even one day he would meet his end.

It was beyond nostalgic but it was precious to him. So upon hearing that the Cherry Blossoms he had sent to America had actually become diseased on their trip, in 1912, he had sent three thousand more.

It made him beyond happy to hear that they had been planted along the Potomac River's Tidal Basin in a formal ceremony and most of the trees were planted along the basin, in East Potomac Park, and on the White House grounds.

It made him extremely joyful, feeling complete bliss, his heart hammering in his chest, and that was when Japan finally knew why the American was always plaguing his mind. Why the mere thought of him made his heart pound, and even his cheeks flush gently, turning into the color of cherry blossoms. It was because of one simple thing.

Even if America wasn't here, a new name of endearment slipped past his lips fading into the open air losing itself in the wind and fading with the cheery blossoms that gracefully whirled through the air like a blizzard full of snow.

" _America-chan._ "

* * *

 _ **I hope you enjoyed this one-shot! Also, I would like to add that the cherry blossoms that webbed through his words symbolized his ever changing emotions as a nation. Afterall they will be against each other in WW2 but like cherry blossoms they fade but also return. Until next time my dearies. Bye, bye!- Admin**_


	4. Kansas Territory: Part1(Fifty-States AU)

_**Background to understand a little more about this one shot. This one-shot is apart of the Fifty States AU where each state is personified which means that America (Alfred F. Jones) simply is the personification of the union that unites the states. Because of him they were able to pledge their allegiance to him and become truly free from England because they had their own nation.**_

 _ **This one-shot takes place in 1855 and America is growing and more territories are showing up right and left as they expand westward. But as this happens the issue on slavery is expanding and the states are on the verge of a civil war. America was also born in the year 1776 when America formerly declared independence. So he is still looks like a child in the year 1855.**_

 _ **The Kansas Territory was formerly part of the Louisiane Territory so Kansas was raised by Louisiane Who is an official state in the year 1855. Kansas is also quite close to his brother Nebraska and he also was raised by Louisiane.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoy and I hope this cleared up any confusion!**_

* * *

Kansas was small. Yes he was, but not as small as the supposed personification of America. To be honest Kansas had some doubts about the little nation. Compared to other nations that he had seen, such as one Francis Bonnefoy, this nation was a shrimp. How the hell he had beat England, who has the best navy and soldiers in the world, in the American Revolution was just as puzzling as trying to figure out why gravity existed.

I mean seriously? Gravity? It was his arch-enemy, mostly because it had a habit of pulling him out of trees so he would fall face first into the ground. God damn gravity. He thought to himself. He looked at the tiny nation before him, his green eyes flickering over the blonde as if trying to size up something that did not exist. He wore an incredulous look on his face and his arms were crossed.

"Sorry, if I have my doubts, but how the hell are you a nation? I eat people your size for breakfast."

"Uh, excuse me?" America asked, the boy was startled by the strange outburst from the even stranger child.

"I mean come on! Look at you!" Kansas said and approached the shrimpy nation and proceeded to poke him in the arm repeatedly. "I could toss you into the Mississippi without breaking a sweat!"

"Excuse me?" Exclaimed America, who was severely offended by this arrogant stranger, "Who are you? And what's your problem?"

Kansas blinked and then smirked at the nation. "Oh, so the mighty nation of America doesn't know who I am?" He asked. "I mean I am apart of your land. But besides that my problem is you. Well, your shrimpiness to be exact. I mean, how the hell did you beat England? England?!"

America gapped at the other's exclamation, "Shrimpiness?" repeated America, "I'll have you know, Mr. Smart-butt, that I am not a shrimp! And you are not a part of me, I don't even know you!"

Kansas almost laughed. He didn't think that he was a shrimp? Compared to everyone that walked around him and anyone in the nearest vicinity, yes he was a shrimp. "Sorry, but your size says otherwise." The territory had the audacity to smile at the nation and he tilted his head slightly. "And I mean I'm not apart of you. Not yet at least." He said. "Isn't that right America?" He said and poked his arm again.

America swatted his fingers away, annoyed. "I don't know," the nation admitted, but that small moment of vulnerability was gone within a flash,"But I still don't know who you are! I think I'm in Louisiana's place, but I suppose not. So who the heck are you?"

Kansas let out a small laugh. "Just how daft can you be? You are in Louisiane's place as you so blatantly put it. I'm just apart of big bro Louisiane's territory!" He said and then paused for a moment realizing that what he just said probably made no sense. Oh well. "I'm Kansas!" He said and looked down at the shrimpy nation.

"'Big bro'… Louisiane?" the young nation uttered the French name that Louisiana took under the French rule. Apparently the elder's charges still refer to him by his original name. To be fair, America doesn't really have a problem with that. He was just… surprised.

Kansas nearly facepalmed. "Are you deaf? Clear that wax out from your ears! Obviously you just repeated exactly what I said! Yes. Louisiane is my big bro. He's big unlike you shrimpy and he's my brother. Duh." Kansas said and rolled his eyes. He always liked to jab at others whenever he could. It was his source of entertainment. Sort of anyway.

"How?" gapped America, "I-I mean, how? I know you are a territory, but how does it work?"

"How do nations work? Same difference in my book. It just does, your shrimpiness." Kansas grinned mischievously. "But if you really want an explanation I'll give you one. So you have a boy and a girl or even a boy and a boy or a girl and a girl. They get together and have a bit of loving, if you know what I mean...you do know what I mean right?" He asked. "Because if ya don't then I'll happily go into detail." He said. Louisiane used to be own by France. And well...he was taught way more than a few things about girls and sex, by one infamous French nation.

America flushed, "S-shut it!" the boy muttered, his cheeks burned into different shades of red. Of course he knew how it worked, well, sort of, Virginia sat him down a few years ago, tossing around some mumble jumbles that he never knew what. "That's not what I meant and you knew it!"

Kansas started laughing. "Dude, you look like a tomato!" He said and continued to laugh. "I knew what you meant all right." He smirked. "You just weren't too specific so I simply broadened the meaning of your words." He then once again poked his arm again.

The shorter of the two hissed like a grumpy cat at the other's fingers. "Stop that! I'm a nation, you can't treat me like a little kid!"

"But you are a little kid. Compared to every other nation out there you're nothing. You barely hold a candle light to their fire. Their power. How you even beat England is like asking why the sky is blue. I mean seriously, why isn't the sky red instead?" Kansas asked and looked up completely going off topic. He then looked at America again. "You are a shrimpy nation compared to everyone else and somehow you gotta prove yourself to them. And me also because I am certainly having my doubts about you right now."

America was ready to blow when the territory finished his first sentence, but his rage slowly died out as Kansas continued. Well he wasn't wrong, was he? The fire in the nation's eyes faded, and the boy's shoulders unconsciously slumped in the face of the brutal truth. Compared to every other nation out there you're nothing. Obviously. He's right. America's mind drifted to back to one of his recent wars. England burned down his capitol, and took over his heart. And all he could do, was watch, and pray. The amount of power that man, that nation, that Empire possessed is something he could never compete with. That is most certainly true. America stared intensely at his shoes, trying his best to stop the misty tears that blurred his vision from escaping his lids.

Kansas blinked as he noticed the young nation fade out from reality, his shoulders slumped. He waved his hand in front of his face ignoring the concept of personal space and that's when he froze. He had hurt the young nation unintentionally and guilt started to riddle across his expression. "OH MY GOD I'M SORRY!" He said realizing that his mouth and unthinking brain had done harm once again. He grabbed America by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "It's okay shrimpy. It's okay...at least I hope it will be." He chuckled nervously. "Look you don't have the naval power, or army power, or even the armory that England has but what you DO have is willpower. It's strong and your strong and you have a determination that burns through you. Everyone can see that. Freedom, liberty, equality right?" He rambled. "Maybe that's enough to equal England's power. He's an asshat anyway. No one needs that tea drinking, crooked-teeth son of a bit-…Brit." He said remembering not to say 'bitch' in front of the shrimpy child.

"Wha-" gasped America. The poor nation was squeezed into the territory's chest, and he could barely breath in his iron embrace. Kansas was rambling something, an apology, and, wait, is he getting a pep talk from the teen who just brutally slapped the truth in his face? "You are not helping!" Squealed America through Kansas' arms.

Kansas winced at that and then pulled back from the nation and looked at him. "I know, I know." He said. "I just really don't think before I talk and stuff." He said and smiled warily. "What I said was true though. But you beat England. That's what matters right? I mean you defied against all odds and took that motherfu-...mother-fuzzer down without any trouble! Now that's some American whoop as...whoop something. Got it?" He said correcting himself as he went along. Damn. Not cursing was harder than I thought.

"Sure..." America snorted, and laughed, "I got it, alright." He paused, but then he began again, this time more apologetic than before, "hey, I overreated a little. But in my defense, you were being a real… uh… mother-fuzzer?"

Kansas blinked and then he started laughing, his laugh echoing through the woods. He gripped his sides as he keeled over and continued to laugh. "You got that right!" He continued to laugh. "I am a mother-fuzzer." He slowly stopped laughing with great effort and looked at America. "You'll do great kid. You'll do great…" He said and smiled softly at him. For the first time ever he believed in his nation.

* * *

 _ **I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot this is part of the Fifty States AU! More one-shots like this will be coming out and I do plan to show how America gained his independence in this AU to clear up some confusion and also add more background story. Anyways, until next time dearies!-Admin**_


	5. Kansas Territory: Part2(Fifty-states AU)

**_Continuation of Kansas Territory Part 1._**

 ** _There will be three parts in total._**

* * *

"I'm home, Guys!" America hollered for his brothers, it should be just him and Virginia, but New York was also visiting.

Virginia heard young America's voice echo throughout the mansion and he smiled to himself. No matter how many times he told him to stop running in the halls, or to keep a quiet voice as he got work done he still kept on doing what he usually did. He was a child but it was always best to teach children some manners. He stood up from his chair and exited the study before he walked down the hall and descended the stairs. He immediately went to the entrance hall where he saw a small child with blonde hair that he immediately recognized as America. But he was filthy. There were some twigs in his hair and his clothes had spots of dirt on them. "America!" He said approaching the young nation and he knelt down before him. "Where have you been?" He asked as he picked out a twig from America's hair.

"Oh I was just visiting Louisiana's place," America grinned brightly, "you won't guess what I did today! Come on, Virginia! guess!"

Virginia couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. He did say that he visited Louisiana's place, territory actually, but the state didn't correct the young nation. "By the looks of it, it seems like you went on a little misadventure." He said as he picked yet another twig from America's hair. "Did you climb a tree perhaps? Or dive into a bush?"

"Nope!" America smugly puffed out his chest, "I'll give you a hint, I met someone!"

Virginia thought for a moment. The only person he could have met was Louisiana if he went to his territory. That was the only thing that made logical sense. "Did you meet Louisiana?"

"No, well, yeah I did," America frowned as he went through his day again, "but I met someone else afterwards."

Virginia frowned slightly. No one else resided in Louisiana territory. Maybe he met some sort of settler? "I'm sorry, America, but you are going to have to be more specific." Virginia said as he studied the blonde.

"Mmm okay," America agreed, "He's a smart-butt, but also a huge mother-fuzzer."

Virginia's eyes widened at the ungodly word, and he opened his mouth to lecture? Yell? He didn't know but he was furious. "New York!" He yelled and stood up in a rush and stomped up the stairs. He was more than just displeased. He wanted to strangle New York and wring his neck!

"What? What!" a certain New Yorker screamed back, "I'm busy! Unlike your lazy as- butt, some of us actually need to get our work done!"

That only made Virginia fume. "Your head is mine!" He said as he stomped into the room New York's loud and damn obnoxious voice had come from. He threw open the doors to the room and once he saw New York all he could see was the color red. They had never gotten along and frankly they probably never would. "What kind of vulgar vocabulary have you been teaching America, you damn yankee!"

"What?" New York shouted back. Then his gaze fall upon the young nation that followed Virginia upstairs, and the man froze as the boy stuttered a clumsy explanation of the situation that happened to include the word "mother-fuzzer". "What!" exclaimed the young man, New York then refocused on the eldest state in the room, "What the hell have you been teaching him you southern bastard!"

Virginia felt something inside him snap. "That's it!" He shouted forgetting all about the young nation that was still present in his room. He grabbed New York and pinned him to the ground in a blur of motion. "I'm sick of you and the rest of you damn yankee's!" He yelled wanting to punch the state. But he held himself back. Barely though. "America, get the soap!" He yelled suddenly determined to wash out the state's mouth.

"Me?" the New Yorker shouted, obviously offended by Virginia's accusation, "America's living with you for the past decade! If anyone is to blame it's you!"

"I did not teach America of all people to talk like that!" Virginia shouted at New York. "You on the other hand decided to come and visit! That could have given you ample opportunity to teach America such a filthy word! It's a word that only a Yankee would teach young children! And also you have a bad habit of cursing don't you?!" He said. "America! SOAP! NOW!" He yelled yet again.

"Aw- SCREW IT!" Exclaimed New York, who at this point, successfully wrestled the elder into the ground, and switched their positions, "America! Go grab the soap! I'm going to wash all those bullsh-"

Virginia at this point went ahead and actually sucked back all his saliva and then fired at New York, successfully spitting into New York's mouth. His fault since New York's mouth had been open as he spit on the younger state.

"UGH!" New York quicked got off the elder as if burned, as well as spitting everywhere, trying to get the taste of the southerner off of his tongue, "You disgust me!"

"HA! Who needs the soap now?!" Virginia said victoriously, and smirked at New York. He sat up properly and stared down the other state.

New York growled dangerously, "I am going to kill you, chop you into pieces, and feed you to your family!"

Virginia almost laughed. Almost. "I'm not sure if America will want to eat me let alone approve of cannibalism." Virginia said calming down slightly. After all, America was apart of his family.

New York snorted, "Like hell I'm going to put America through it, you bastard."

Virginia rolled his eyes at New York and then ran a hand through his hair. "I think I may be too bitter for your taste. Or should I say too southern?" Virginia asked looking at the state.

"From what I tasted," New York said with a frown, then shuttered at his own words, "you are absolutely horrible."

Virginia glared at New York but was glad that he had spat into the State's mouth. It might have actually saved him from being chopped up into tiny pieces and served for Thanksgiving dinner. "Are you sure you still don't need any soap to get rid of that taste in your mouth?"

"Aw, so you do have a heart," New York retorted sarcastically, and he wiped the excess saliva that never made it onto the floor from his chin. "No." He deadpanned.

Virginia gave a nod and then looked over at America, who was actually being silent for once. "America…" The southern state began. "Who taught you that word?" He asked. If he said New York then the Northern state was about to go flying out the window.

America was absolutely stupefied, seeing two of his most respected brothers fighting it out like that, "Uh..." He muttered, his eyes unblinkingly stared at the mess that was his brothers. "I uh," he needed to think of something, and fast. He saw the way the two reacted, he need to save the head of his new found friend, "No one, nothing. I-uh, I saw it in a book."

Virginia raised a disbelieving eyebrow. Was America lying? Was their young nation actually lying to them? "America. Are you telling the truth?" He asked.

"Uh, yeah, definitely!"America answered. But his eyes were darting around the room, unwilling to meet the piercing gray eyes of Virginia, nor the sharp blue gaze of New York.

"Did someone threatened you not to tell?" Asked New York, but America didn't answer him.

Virginia actually felt worried now. "America. You need to tell us who taught you that word. We promise that we won't hurt them but they do need to be put in their place." He said carefully, wanting America to trust him.

America denied it for a moment, but the young boy was eventually no match of the intensive gaze of New York and Virginia, the two that he respected the most. The young nation tried to tough it out, his stubbornness died out eventually, "It's Kansas, please don't be mad at him."

Virginia paused for a moment. Who the hell was Kansas? He had never heard of the person. Perhaps it was a colonist of some sort? A settler? He looked at New York with questioning eyes wondering if he knew because he sure as heck didn't.

New York shrugged at the eldest state, indicating his ignorance of such a person in his knowledge.

Virginia's eyes slowly drifted back to America. "Where did you meet this 'Kansas'?" He asked.

"I was visiting Louisiana, then I just sort of wandered off a 'bit' too far up north. And uh, he just sort of walked up to me and we talked, he was actually pretty okay though, says he's a part of me."

Virginia raised an eyebrow at that. "He's apart of you?" He questioned. He knew that if this person was in the Louisiana's territory, then Louisiana would have more information than America himself. "Well it looks like we'll be visiting a certain family member over in the west." He said and stood up.

* * *

 ** _It took me a while to write this along with Part 1, but I will not be releasing Part 3 until some time next week. I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this AU like I am along with my editor, but I do hope that it is at least enjoyable. Please review because I love to hear what everyone has to say! Also, requests are accepted through PMs. :) Until next time dearies!-Admin_**


	6. Vengeance (Greek Gods AU: Canada)

"We won't end up like them, will we?" A soft-spoken voice asked, curious eyes flickering to the golden god next to him, gaze filled with a sincere naivety that could only be found in an ingenuous child yet to be exposed to the vices and virtues of reality. A reality that has yet to infect the innocent young God as he sat upon the edges of Mount Olympus, soaking up the glorious scenery before him of curling clouds that formed into wisps as the wind pulled them along, stretching them out until they faded into the backdrop of blue.

It was truly a dazzling sight, but for frequent onlookers it could become sickening, making people - such as the young child - yearn for a change that could not be found on Mount Olympus.

You see, as years passed it was the same old recurring events that nagged everyone at Olympus. That is why young Matthaíos wished for something different and less analogous, but if he were to ask for such a thing his mother, Hera, would not listen. She would rather shelter him and his twin; to blockade them both from the realism of how the universe worked, but most of all the true nature of her relationship with their father, Zeus.

Something that Matthaíos was already sorely aware of.

Hera though was completely ignorant of this fact and instead continued to bathe their marriage in white lies to give their matrimony some verisimilitude, but young Matthaíos knew better. He could feel the spite running through her veins, could sense the unshed tears that even left Matthaíos with a bitter taste in his mouth. As if Eris herself was laughing in his face.

Perhaps he seemed to be the only one to sense this because he was the God of Vengeance and my oh my...Their mother had become more bloodthirsty over the centuries as Zeus betrayed her and favored in whoring himself away to different mortal women. Then children would also be born from these unsightly treacheries that fueled his mother's rage as Hera clenched her fists, wanting to scream and rupture all of Zeus' past misdeeds for they were unforgivable.

They were immortal though.

They were _gods_.

Which meant Hera had no choice but to forgive Zeus for she was his Queen and he was King. It was their duty to.

But Zeus did not deserve forgiveness. That was something Matthaíos had learned at a young age. A simple truth that spoiled his mind but he would protect his younger twin from it.

At least for a little longer.

"Like who?" The God Apollo asked as he leaned towards Matthaíos his gaze focused on his half-brother, hair made of light shining with a sort of luminescence that allowed no mortal man to gaze for long.

"Our parents…" Matthaíos answered as if it was an obvious question with an obvious answer, but it was actually quite the opposite.

"Ah, I see what you are getting at," Apollo paused for a moment as he thought of Matthaíos's situation. He wished to quell the young boy's worries but Apollo wasn't one to give advice. He was more narcissistic and self-absorbed, therefore he focused less on others and more on his own vanity.

But a part of him wishes he could for he related to Matthaíos in this situation. For, once upon a time, he too wished to stay close with his own twin, Artemis. To stay together with her like when they were in their mother's womb. He didn't wish to achieve the cynic relationship level their parent, Zeus, had with his own wife. And he knew that Matthaíos was now fearing the same thing.

The young god wanted to stay united with his own twin. Sometimes, such things were not meant to be.

"But unfortunately I can't tell the future…

... _And neither can you_."

The soft echo of Apollo's voice was what woke him.

Matthaíos' eyes flickered open with delirium as he tried to gain his bearing, his striking violet eyes settling upon his twin's face who laid next to them; both lying in comfort in one bed under the security of a warm blanket made of fur.

For as long as he could remember, the two of them always shared the same bed together. They were, quite literally, inseparable and it made Matthaíos' heart soar. He didn't want to lose his twin. He only wished to protect and care for him. It was his duty as the elder and he loved Álfredos unconditionally, unlike the parents who had given them life. This is what made him smile seeing his twin's peaceful and resting face as Álfredos suddenly rolled over with a snore, half of his body now draped over Matthaíos, making the God of Vengeance roll his eyes as he pushed him off with excessive force.

He had things to do, and the God of Justice would not stall him.

Not this time.

Usually, when one was off somewhere the other would follow, unwilling to be separated. So whenever they were apart you can only imagine the separation anxiety it caused. It was so bad that one could simply not leave without the other and it was a serious matter. They both would experience excessive distress, riddled with worry about losing or harm coming to each other when they weren't in the nearest vicinity to each other.

It only grew worse over the first ten years of their existence, and only grew exponentially over the span of a century. Let alone a _thousand_ years. The twin gods would refuse to go to certain places because of fear of separation, and this refusal only escalated to the point where one could not sleep without the other. To the point where if one was gone for more than a couple minutes, the other would experience a complete mental breakdown with the side effect being mental trauma.

Without vengeance, there could be no justice. And without justice, there could be no vengeance.

But this was a risk that Matthaíos was willing to take right now. Afterall, he was doing this for his brother and it had to be a surprise or else everything would fall apart like a house of cards.

But this made him anxious.

He had never done something like this before and he didn't want to hurt Álfredos.

And yet only thirty minutes later he found himself wringing his hands together before Hephaestus as he pounded a hammer against the burning steel of a sword, over an anvil.

"Brother," Matthaíos began as he made his way to the God, not minding at his hideous and deformed features that made his face twisted and pinched together in some places and bulging in others. He was actually particularly fond of the God of Forges and at a very young age he was exposed to his rather humble heart and clung onto that aspect. He admired it, which was quite ironic giving Matthaíos' title as God of _Vengeance_. But later on Matthew would realize that it wasn't Hephaestus being humble, it was him being brutally honest and cynical.

"I have a small favor to ask of you." Matthaíos couldn't help but feel nervous slightly in front of the powerful God in front of him.

"A favor?" The God asked, as his focus was shifted from his previous work to the young child now interfering with his task. He would rather Matthaíos not be here but he knew that would not happen. It was clear the young God wanted something and even though he didn't mind Matthaíos, he did mind it when he was interrupting his work. "This will have to wait then. I am busy."

Matthaíos bit his bottom lip before he took a deep breath and then got on his knees, seeing Hephaestus turn away from him. He would not allow such a thing to happen so he would do what he did best.

Kill him with kindness.

"Hephaestus, son of Zeus and Hera, God of forges, fire, craftsmen, sculptors, volcanoes, and blacksmiths. I am here today to ask you a favor and in return, I am willing to work under your command until Artemis raises the moon, in return that you craft a sword worthy of my brother Álfredos, God of Justice, using flames of vengeance," Matthaíos spoke with a firm tone.

Hephaestus froze. He had not expected such words to come slipping out of the young God's mouth but it would be wrong to say it wasn't a pleasing surprise. "Flames of vengeance?" He questioned, as he turned his body towards his brother. "I have never worked with such a tool before." His eyes, sparked with interests as he looked at Matthaíos' hands knowing what they were capable of. Knowing what disasters they could spark.

They could make Pompeii look like child's play, for the Flames of Vengeance were hotter than the core of the sun, hotter than Tartarus, and unique for their purple hue that matched it's owner's eyes. It could melt any metal in a split second if it was close enough, and incinerate anything for miles if Matthaíos really put his mind to it.

It was a mark of power that showed that Matthaíos was truly a son of the King and Queen of the Gods of Mount Olympus.

Matthaíos' eyes turned hopeful as he looked at Hephaestus and smiled. "It's a tool that I'm willing to let you use. But, I have to go back to Álfredos soon. I've already been gone too long," he admitted as fear lapsed into his voice.

"Then join me, Matthaíos. We have much work to do."

After that, Matthaíos remembered working his finger practically down to the bone, his violet flames dancing through the air but luckily Hephaestus was immune to it.

For the most part anyway.

But Day turned into Night and Matthaíos found himself running back to his shared chamber. But he had done it. He had achieved the seemingly impossible and now carried with him a sword that would be marveled. A sword that could cut through any metal and withstand the Flames of Vengeance.

It was a gleaming sword made of silver with a soft purple tinge, but stronger than the combined forces of Troy. It was double-edged, straight-bladed, with a two-handed cruciform, pommel and gold quillon block. A sword meant for a person of brute strength that could behead someone without much effort. A sword meant for battle and to make enemies quiver at its very sight.

But none of those aspects are what the God of Vengeance favorited.

No.

He rather adored the scripture that was elegantly scribed across the gleaming metal.

 _Audi Iuppiter et tu lane Quirine dique omnes caelestes vosque terrestres vosque inferni audite._

"Hear O Jupiter and you too, Janus-Quirico also, and all celestial, terrestrial, and infernal gods hear."

It was the scripture that truly pulled the sword together and made it into a work of art. A sword, when unsheathed, meant a declaration of war because of the words that marked its blade.

Matthaíos smiled slightly as he admired the sword and knew that Álfredos would accept it. And maybe perhaps even treasure it for it was truly a sword of impartiality and equity. It was a sword that would only kill everyone the same, making creatures and mortals equal even in death, under its searing blade.

It was a sword of Justice, and in his brother's hands, he knew he would not be trifled with. He would be protected.

Matthaíos just hoped that Álfredos wouldn't abuse it like Ares did his instruments of war. He was trusting him not to do such a thing and he believed he wouldn't.

He was the God of Justice after all.


	7. Devil's Brigade (Cardverse Pirate AU

_If there was one thing Arthur Kirkland knew it was how to survive._

It was the one true thing he found that he could trust, for he had lost everything else.

His home.

His family.

His genuine sense of self.

He didn't know who he was anymore only who he was supposed to be.

He felt like he was a puppet and someone was pulling and twirling his strings, making him dance and speak only when instructed to. It was an inhuman feeling that left him feeling bitter and frustrated, not just with those around him, but also with himself.

He was Britannia.

No...He was the _Heir Regent._

Except for both personas completely counteracted with each other and he felt fear. Fear for his future when he knew Captain Blackbeard was still out there but here he was in a place that was too cold for his liking.

For so long, the sea had been his home, had practically consumed him in mind and body, which was made evident by the several scars that littered his body and the trauma he had been through.

For so long, he had been at the mercy of Captain Blackbeard and his subordinates that all he could rely on was the pulsing instinct within him, telling him to do whatever it took to live. To live through this day of hell and face the next, so that there could be a chance when the next day looked a little bit brighter.

His choices were to obey or suffer.

At first, he fought, taking the brunt of whip lashes because of his disobedience but at the time he could care less. At the ripe age of twelve, all he merely wanted to do was go home. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and curl up around his favorite stuffed animal, Flying mint bunny. All he wanted was to bury himself in his brother's arms. All he wanted to do was cry.

He didn't care about following orders or being obedient.

Hell, he had fought tooth and nail at the crew he was being imprisoned by but his defiance was short lived.

Cuts were carved across his skin, scarring along with all the lashes that marked his back. Defiance never seemed so hopeless for it simply wasn't an option upon the Albion.

At least he knew he tried, but the pain that came with it made it all for naught. It simply wasn't worth it.

So instead, he worked. He let the sun burn his skin, let the wind blow across his feathery hair, and let the ropes and riggings burn his hands and chap his fingernails. He became one with the crew like all the other boys who had been kidnapped and survived until now.

And Arthur was heartbroken to admit he even befriended one of them.

"I gotta say, this is a piss poor knot, Brit," he could hear the thick accent of the Latino from beside him, sending chills up bus spine.

"Oh, belt up," Arthur had growled in return as he used his own teeth to untie the knot and started to redo it all over again, clearly frustrated with the comment he had received.

The other boy though had simply laughed, a rare sight on this damned ship, as he patted Arthur on the back not caring as he winced out of pain. "I'm only trying to save your skin. I feel as if you get any more lashings and you might just actually die."

"I'm not going to die," Arthur said firmly as his green eyes flickered to the Latino, eyes his messy and rather chaotic brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. "I don't plan on letting that happen."

"No one does. And to be honest it's not our decision, Britannia."

Arthur froze at the name, his jaw clenching as he finishes up his shoddy knot, not giving a damn about anything else.

Upon the Albion, names were not allowed. Only titles that are given by the crew and Arthur (Thanks to his accent) had been nicknamed Britannia. The name of an ancient English nation long deceased, it's land having been absorbed by Spades creating the District of Arthur's lineage.

The same district that he was torn away from and it's capital burned down.

"I still hate that name," Arthur admitted in a low voice. "It feels like they're trying to make us forget who we were."

"They aren't trying, they already _have_ ," the Latino stressed out, "I can see it in everybody's eyes. No one fights anymore, not even you and you were the most stubborn of us all."

"Yeah well, fifty fucking lashings can do that to you."

"See, you even started to curse! You never did that before but now you are. You're turning into one of them!" He gestures to a burly crew member who thankfully had their back turned to them.

Arthur stared at the other and then gently shook his head. "What choice do we have?" The broken truth slipped passed his lips and he could see the other's shattered expression at hearing it out loud, taking a physical form so it was clear as the ocean beneath them. "There is no escape. We're stuck here, in the middle of the bloody ocean and I'm tired. Tired of being in pain. I want to survive this, I want to live, and the only way to do that is to listen."

"But don't you see we can't-"

"Please stop talking," Arthur spoke as he bit his bottom lip, his eyes starting to mist because this was cruel. Someone he trusted and cared about was giving him hope in a place where it could not be found. That was something that Arthur's broken spirit could not withstand, just like the scars on his back.

"I," The other gulped, their mouth feeling suddenly dry, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Arthur looked up at the sky studying the great blue expanse that stretched out over him, seemingly endless until it met the waves of the ocean at the horizon. "I just don't want to stand up and fight when I only know that I'll be shot down."

Silence encased the two boys both of their eyes meeting until one turned and started to walk away, unable to agree with the words that were spoken between them.

And the same one to walk away, instead of giving in, was later executed.

And whatever small glimmer of hope that Arthur had was extinguished.

Because of that, it was simply easier to be Britannia. To be the ruthless magically adapted Pirate the Albion needed and oh so craved. He could practically see Captain Blackbeard's maniacal glee whenever his hands would spark, holding an infinite of power, and it was his to command. Not Britannia's own.

He was merely a pond for Captain Blackbeard to move. A loyal subject for him to order. A believer who would do anything for his god.

But it wasn't any less chilling when Captain Blackbeard approached one day, a blood red coat in his arms as his footsteps made the planks under his feet creak.

"Captain," Britannia spoke automatically giving an aristocratic bow to him, one that was not shared among the other pirates, but a move that made Britannia unique and developed his persona.

But it was also something that Captain Blackbeard seemed to enjoy. A bow that he wanted to be copied by the masses as if they were his worshippers and he an idol.

"I have to say, out of all the scalawags here you have truly proven yourself worthy." His eyes seemed to glitter as he stared down at the fourteen-year-old boy in front of him. "But I have a question for you."

Britannia stares at the Captain wondering if he looked as rigid and tense as he felt. If he did, the Captain didn't point it out but Britannia had a feeling he knew and was enjoying it.

He kept silent though and instead moved so that his back was facing the railing of the Albion and waited in silence, unwilling to talk when it seemed it was not his place to right now.

" _Would you ever sacrifice your own life for me?"_

Britannia blinked out of slight surprise at the unexpected question. Was this some sort of trick question? What was he supposed to say? He knew that the correct answer would be 'yes' but this had to be some sort of trick. Yes, there had to be some sort of loophole for this.

But what? What was he expecting to hear? He only had a short amount of time and he couldn't just theorize what the exact words Captain Blackbeard wanted. Instead, he had to try and exceed that. Keyword being try.

He licked his chapped lips tasting the salt of the sea upon them before he worked up the courage to look him in the eye. "No," he started and watched as Blackbeard's eyes narrowed, "It would be more logical to sacrifice a bit of magic instead." That was it. That had to be the loophole, after all his magic could heal any stab wounds Blackbeard gained, and he could conjure shields to protect him from gunshots. Magic could go a long way to the point where it could allow a person to evade itself.

Captain Blackbeard stared before he all of a sudden walked around Britannia, making his way around so that he was standing behind him. And then Britannia felt shocked as something weighted and large was placed upon his shoulders.

Green eyes flickered seeing the crimson coat that had been placed upon him, and it was quite large, larger than his current figure but he knew that with time he would grow into it. And it seemed that Blackbeard knew that as well.

Britannia was mesmerized though, seeing the thick wool curl around his ankles as long as the wind wasn't trying to sweep it away. But he was confused. Why would the man who had kidnapped him, the man who had tortured him, the man who manipulated him give him this?

"Welcome to the crew," Blackbeard said before he started to walk away and Britannia felt a chill shoot down his chest, and it wasn't because of Blackbeard.

No, it was because he felt stable as he stood upon the swaying ship. He felt like he belonged. And the warmth of the coat that had been gifted to him by his captor felt like home.

He had completely lost all sense of identity and for once, wasn't thinking about the home he had come from and the family he once belonged to.


End file.
